The Gypsy's Fortune
by Rikuyu-Aki
Summary: In between Harry's fifth and sixth year, he recieves a strange prediction from an old gypsy woman. No matter what he does, Harry can't forget the old woman's words, and he'll do anything to see his fortune through.


What had always seemed the most odd to Harry was that the most supernatural experience of his life had not taken place within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In fact, it had not taken place anywhere inside of the wizarding world, but rather in the seemingly very ordinary place of Little Whinging, Surrey, where he spent his summer vacations with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and piggy little cousin, Dudley.

It had began somewhere in late July, between Harry Potter's fifth and sixth year of school at Hogwarts, and yet he still wasn't any closer to deciding which direction to take his life in when school was finished. Hermione had been writing him all summer, and nearly every letter that was owled to him finished with, "By the way Harry, have you decided what you'll do after school?" The only thing that kept him from worrying about it too terribly much was the fact that Ron still hadn't decided either. At least he wasn't alone in that boat. Mrs. Weasley had insisted repeatedly and vocally that Ron enlist for a career in the Ministry of Magic, like his father but Ron just wasn't interested. Not that Harry could blame him much; Ron was against doing anything remotely Percy-like.

The summer had passed more slowly than any summer Harry could remember before that although he'd been keeping track of each passing day with a Falmouth Falcons calendar with moving pictures that was tacked to the wall above his bed. On the other hand, Harry had decided that the summer had been much more pleasant without Dudley lazing around in the house all day and amusing himself with new and horrible ways to torture him. Dudley had been spending more and more time with his so-called mates, only coming in and out of the house to eat and occasionally, to sleep. Personally, Harry thought that Dudley's own parents had finally driven him bonkers as well, which would explain for his long absences.

Harry himself had been doing very little lazing; instead he found his days filled with chores done for his aunt and his evenings with walks to the park for some solitude. Despite it having been months since the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, Harry had found himself more sullen than ever before. Both Ron and Hermione had given up giving Harry condolences and apologies as well as advice as the mere mention of Sirius seemed to send him into a fit of brooding that could last hours or days. The park with the crooked chained swings was where Harry spent most of his time, thinking of all the things that had gone wrong in his short existence, and all of the things that he wished he could reverse. Sirius was one of them. It wasn't the fact that he held himself solely responsible for Sirius's death, or the awkward ache in his chest that resulted every time someone spoke his godfather's name but it was the horrible nightmares that plagued him nearly each night that truly bothered him. The dreams didn't always have the same beginnings; occasionally they began with pleasant surroundings and familiar faces. Sometimes it would begin with Harry on his broom, speeding through the wind at roughly the speed of light and reaching for the shining snitch that lay just beyond reach. But somehow, no matter how the dream began, it would always result in a rehash of that horrible night at the Department of Mysteries. Each night he saw Sirius, just beyond his reach, falling into that black void over and over, as though someone had hit the replay on his own memories. Each night, there would be a shred of hope for Harry that if he could only grab Sirius's hand, he still might pull him back through. But when he woke, it was gone and once again he was reminded of just how alone he truly was. And no amount of apology seemed to be enough to forget it.

Harry was thinking of his godfather just then as he was stretched across his bed and clutching one of the many letters Sirius had written him the year before. He kept them all in a shoebox, hidden under his bed to protect them from nosy his aunt and uncle. He knew it might have been better to throw them out to ease the reminders of Sirius, but every time he drew out the box to do just that, his courage failed and he wound up shoving them back into the hiding place. He gave a bit of a sigh, and folded up the letter he was holding, placing it back in the box with others and at last, rose from the bed.

When he opened the door leading into the hallway, he was glad to find that the whole corridor was shrouded in darkness, meaning that both his aunt and uncle were asleep in their beds. At the moment, Harry could hear the sound of Vernon's weed-whacker-like snoring which provided a perfect cover to slip into the hallway and close the door behind him. Outside, the night was warm and humid and the noise of crickets filled the air, which was much more pleasant than his uncle's snoring. Instead of crossing through the alleyway on Wisteria Walk, which was Harry's usual route to the park, he diverted all the way down the road, not turning until he'd reached Magnolia Road. He slid through the gate that closed off the park and was on the road toward the swings when he noticed silhouetted figures standing at the park's edge.

Harry gave a groan when he realized who the figures were. Why was it that every time he wanted to leave the house to be alone, Dudley and his 'gang' somehow managed to appear and ruin it all? Harry clenched his fists at his sides, fully prepared for the boys to take notice of him and immediately start in on the 'games' they had invented which mostly centered around chasing, hitting or taunting him. But five, then ten, then almost fifteen minutes had passed with Harry still going unnoticed and he realized that something had entirely stolen away the attention of the five boys. They were standing with their backs to him and seemed to be gawking at a house just across the street on Magnolia Crescent. It was then that Harry should have been the smarter and ducked out of the park before any of Dudley's gang could turn around and notice him standing there, but as usual, curiosity got the better of him and he crept forward noiselessly to see what it was that was so fascinating.

Dudley was standing off to the side, flicking the glowing remains of a cigarette into the gutter of the street in front of him.  
"It's that nut job old bag that lives in that house. I heard she murdered the paperboy and buried him in her back yard." Piers gave a disgusted snort.

"I'll bet you she shot the mailman too."

Dudley flashed him one of his patented annoyed glares.

"Think I'm joking Polkiss? I'd like to see you walk up and knock on the door."

"Oh, does that mean you're too scared to do it then?" Piers asked, raising his eyebrows. "Afraid she'll pluck out your eyes and boil them in a soup?"

Malcolm shifted, glancing at the two boys nervously.

"It's getting late I'd better ..."

"D'you think you're going somewhere?" Dudley snapped, grabbing the back of Malcolm's shirt and jerking him back enough to cause the fabric to rip. Dudley glanced once more at the darkened and dilapidated house that loomed over at them from across the street. "Why don't you go?"

Malcolm swallowed and blinked. Once. Twice.

"Go...where?"

"Where do you think pea brain?" Dudley asked, stabbing the air in the direction of the house across the way.

"Forget it!" Malcolm replied, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't be such a twit! Just knock on the door and run for it." Said Piers, secretly hoping he'd accept and get it over with or Dudley would never change the subject. Gordon and Dennis glanced at each other, neither one eager to volunteer for the task.

"I can't...I've got to go home it's – "Malcolm said, searching his mind for an excuse that could pry Dudley off the challenge.

"I'll do it." Came a reply from somewhere behind them, and the boys turned to see Dudley's cousin approaching to stand under the streetlamp.

Dudley snorted, about to come up with a snide remark to flaunt his intelligence, or lack thereof when he seemed to change his mind.

"Fine Potter. We're not stopping you, are we?" None of Dudley's friends spoke, though there was a general murmur of agreement, each of them secretly glad they weren't the ones to go. Harry glanced over at the house and despite the darkness and the fact that it was badly in need of repairs, couldn't see how it was any different from all of the houses on the street. Dudley rubbed his plump hands together, almost praying out loud that the woman inside the house really was a murdering nut job. Without another word to any of them, Harry crossed the street.

The house had a verandah that wrapped around the whole front of the entryway as far as Harry could see, and before he even reached the steps, he could see the stray weeds that were sprouting from in-between broken floorboards. But who could say the house wasn't really abandoned and that Dudley just wasn't making up a load of lies? It certainly wouldn't have been a first time. He crept up the steps; aware of the sharp cracking noises he caused when his feet touched the old wood.

"Hurry it up Potter! If you're going to chicken out, get on with it!" Dudley yelped from across the street, but his voice sounded strangely distant to Harry's ears. There was one large window to the right of the doorway, but either all the lights inside were off, or the glass was so coated with grime that it blocked out any light whatsoever. It was only when he was approaching the doorway that Harry began to have second thoughts, but it didn't stop him from reaching out and giving a few short knocks.

The next few minutes were blessedly silent as Harry stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting for any response from within the house but the only noise that greeted him were the creaks of the wooded planks beneath him and a car from in the distance. Harry turned, prepared to leave and faced the boys with a shrug of his shoulders. Just then, there was a long groan of the door being pushed open, and a crescent of yellowish light fell on Harry's shoulders. Harry turned, his mouth falling open in surprise to see an aged woman standing in the doorway. Her hair was a deep slate gray, with fine threads of white laced in it and fell around her shoulders like cotton. Her wrinkled face wore a vacant expression, as did her eyes. It was the eyes of the old woman that really made Harry wish he'd never accepted Dudley's challenge. Her eyes were the purest blue he'd ever seen, like the middle of crashing ocean waves, or a cloudless summer day. But one look at her and anyone could see that the woman's eyes were terribly blind. Harry stumbled back slightly, stammering his apologies, when before he could coax another word from his mouth; the woman's gnarled hand shot out and was gripping him painfully on the shoulder. Her horrible yellowed nails dug into the bone until he was certain he could feel blood soaking into his shirt and he was being drug along, like an animal on a leash. He would have stopped himself, had he known where he was going but before he knew it, he'd drifted into the house and the pressure on his shoulder disappeared, as though the woman had never touched him at all. The next sound he heard was the sound of the door banging closed behind him, and once inside – everything around him fell into complete darkness.


End file.
